


On the Matter of Mothers

by Deannie



Series: Family Business [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by the events of "Safecracker" and "Witness," Ezra is given to muse on the nature of motherhood and family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories and Missives

**Author's Note:**

> I've always felt that there's a thread that runs between "Safecracker" and "Witness" (which immediately follows it in the airing order). Ezra is so enchanted by Olivia and the implied similarities between her and what he might have been like at that age are so strong. Then, when he reacts to Maude as he does in "Witness," well.... I just had to write this.

  
**Part One:**   
**Memories and Missives**   


The week had been long and relatively bracing. But now with Coltrane and his men dispatched, Olivia and Terry Greer reunited, and JD on the mend from his run-in with a well-thrown knife, Four Corner’s peacekeepers were ready to relax—at least until the next bit of excitement came around.

For the first time in the seven weeks he’d been in this quiet burg, Ezra Standish thought that perhaps the excitement could hold off a bit longer than it normally did. Their latest escapade had worked out, of course. They’d saved the damsel and the damsel-in-waiting and the money as well, just for good measure. He was feeling quite sanguine about himself and his friends and his place in the world. As Chris Larabee would say, they’d done good.

So why, he asked himself, was there a pain in the pit of his stomach when he thought back on all that had happened since a beautiful young girl had nearly gotten him killed exposing the cheater he’d been playing along for nearly two hours?

He’d been well aware the man was cheating—he was incredibly bad at it—but, not wanting to make a scene, he’d set the man up carefully, allowing him his meager winnings. He’d have cleaned the man out in three more hands, leaving him none the wiser as to his downfall.

 

> _“Ezra,_ never _let them know you know! You could get yourself killed that way. Or_ me _.”_
> 
> _“But Mother, he was cheating!”_
> 
> _“So was_ I _, child! I was just doing it better than he was.”_

“Ezra?”

He looked up into Nathan’s impatient eyes, cursing himself for his inattentiveness.

“You going to call, or sit there wool-gathering?”

“Full house, my friends,” Ezra drawled quietly, spreading his cards out and assuming from the look on JD’s face that the young man had the cards to beat him. He fought a frown. “Tens over threes.”

 

> _“Concentrate, Ezra! Don’t you understand how important this is?”_

“Hell, Ezra, I don’t even know why I bother playing with you,” Nathan growled good-naturedly, throwing down his cards in disgust.

“I don’t mind so much today, Nathan!” JD replied with a smile. “Queens over eights,” he called, tossing down his own full house and raking in the pile of coins with his right hand. It was obvious the knife wound in his left shoulder was hurting him, and Nathan gave him a look that was sure to mean he’d be visiting the clinic again soon. “Hot dang! I never won such a big pot off you before, Ezra!”

 

> _“Two hundred dollars? Ezra! If you had had your head in that game, you’d’ve taken him for twice that!”_

Ezra looked at him with his most severe poker face. “There’s a first—and last—time for everything, Mr. Dunne.” Ezra hadn’t manipulated the cards at all this afternoon, but he might’ve thought to let JD win if he had. Lord knew the boy had earned a little something after his showing against Coltrane and his men.

 

> _“Charity is for suckers, my boy. And no son of mine will ever be called a sucker.”_

He did so wish the voices in his head would stop.

“I’m thinking maybe young Miss Greer went and stole all your luck, Ezra,” Josiah offered with a smile.

Ah, the sweet young Olivia. Despite the memories swarming in his mind, Ezra found a smile on his face at the thought of her. Buck, Vin, and Chris were seeing her off right now, her and her mother. Off to Bitter Creek for a new life...

“She could sure use it,” JD said, awkwardly stuffing his winnings into his pocket. “I mean, it must’ve been hard, growing up in prison and all.”

“There are worse places,” Ezra whispered, wincing internally as he saw Nathan’s eyes on him. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Damnit, he was slipping.

He plastered a smile back on his face, much less genuine than the one that had fled at the thought of his uncle’s plantation. Olivia had more going for her than many children in her circumstance. She was smart, resilient… She knew more about the world than a child should, which gave her a power adults would underestimate. “I think dear Olivia will be just fine.” He raised his whiskey glass to his lips.

“With a mother’s love as strong as Terry’s,” Josiah intoned, causing Ezra’s whiskey to sour on the way down his throat, “I expect a child with a mind like hers has great things in her future.”

 

> _"A mother's love and a sharp mind, young Ezra! I see great things in your future!"_

Ezra tried very hard not to stumble over his own words. “I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Sanchez.” He suddenly tidied the cards and pocketed them neatly. He simply couldn’t hear any more of this conversation.

“Aren’t we gonna play another hand?” JD asked, an innocence to him that Ezra hadn’t had at Olivia’s age, much less JD’s. “I was on a roll.”

“I fear you’ll have to find some other gambler to pit your skills against this afternoon, Mr. Dunne,” Ezra told him, standing and retrieving his hat. Perhaps a long ride outside of town would clear his mind. “I have things to attend to.”

“What things does _Ezra_ have to attend to?” he heard JD ask in an incredulous tone as he headed for the door.

 

> _“Ezra, darling, what could be more important than honing your God-given talents?”_

“What, indeed,” Ezra sighed as he headed for the livery, turning around quickly at Buck’s yell of indignation to watch the man run after the stage that carried Olivia and her loving mother Terry as they headed for their second chance.

He hoped they succeeded. He hoped Olivia grew to fulfill her potential—though he doubted it would be the potential Josiah was looking for. She was beyond the preacher’s angelic dreams for her.

 

> _“Oh, Maude, look at him! The face of an angel with the devil’s skills! You’ve done a fine job raising him, dear.”_

The sound of Terry Greer’s anguished, relieved cry as she embraced her daughter in the middle of a moonlit street echoed through Ezra’s skull. There was a connection there stronger than any other bond in the world—just as it should be between a mother and her child.

 

> _“I am your mother, Ezra Standish, and you will do as you’re told.”_

How strange, he thought, to envy a child her three years of incarceration. Though given that that was almost six months longer than his longest stretch living with his own mother, perhaps it wasn’t so strange, after all.

 

He saddled Chaucer quickly and headed out, praying that the monotony of the ride might at least dull the ring of voices in his head.

 

> _“Five card draw—deuces wild.”_ _Lord, he had been a precocious eight-year-old._
> 
> _“Oh Ezra. Ezra! Such a facile game—a child’s game! I taught you better than that!”_

Ezra unconsciously followed the route Vin had worked out for “keeping an eye on things” when trouble was brewing. It seemed to meander, but it was designed to hit most of the small ranches and dirt farms that would need protection from, or offer unwilling haven to, any miscreants intent on doing harm to their little town.

“Well, Mr. Standish! How nice to see you!”

Francey MacAliister called up to him from her place by her well as he rode the ridge above her family’s small ranch. She was more beautiful than her surroundings called for but a strong woman, well-suited to life on the range. She clearly took pains with her appearance, though, even here in the dust and heat.

 

> _“Appearances are everything, Ezra, darling. A woman must look her best. A man, too—now straighten that collar and let’s get to work.”_

“And you, Mrs. MacAllister!” he returned easily. He felt the comfort of her trust at his arrival. There had been a time, not very long ago at all, where a woman like her would take in his gambler’s facade and reach for a rifle. Just in case.

“Something wrong? Harold’s working the horses at the north corral, but I can have Sally run and get him if I need to.”

“No problems, ma’am,” he assured her, grinning at her no nonsense ways. “I just felt a need to stretch my legs, and those of my stalwart mount here.” He patted Chaucer’s neck tenderly, receiving a wicker of appreciation in response.

Mrs. MacAllister bent to retrieve her bucket and toss it into the well at the end of its rope. “It’s a lovely day for a nice, safe ride, Mr. Standish,” she called sweetly. “I feel like there are more and more of those, now that you all are here.”

Ezra tipped his hat, a bemused grin on his face as he prodded Chaucer to continue.

He spent the rest of his ride wandering in his mind as Chaucer wandered through the countryside.

What a change his world had taken. He’d rolled into this hopeless little dustbowl, down to his last ten dollars and desperate to move on to greener pastures, if only he could afford them. A well-worn con that was new to the neophytes here in the wilderness—drunken man shoots the ace. He’d learned it at the knee of one of his mother’s many paramours, and his incredible aim, plus a few pre-loaded blanks, had him certain to make a killing and get the hell out of town.

High on the knowledge that these morons in the desert would never see through him and tired to death of the trail that had been so very cruel to him of late, Ezra had broken one of his mother’s rules. He’d gotten cocky.

 

> _“Self-assurance sells the con, dear. Cockiness, on the other hand, can land you in a jail cell quicker than you can palm an ace.”_

Ezra grinned in spite of himself, unable to stay angry at the woman for long. His mother did have a turn of phrase in her.

“Lord,” he muttered to himself, threading Chaucer’s way through a stand of oak. “Your time in this town has made you frightfully introspective.” He grunted bitterly. “Mother would be appalled.”

Oh, who was he kidding. Maude would be appalled at damn near everything about his life in Four Corners. When he’d left her in Kansas City, after the unmitigated fiasco with Senator Macklin’s daughter, she’d told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to “rein in that tedious streak of do-gooder” he’d come upon during that con. Clearly he’d done a dismal job of it.

At the time he’d been furious with her. The woman Maude had targeted, not much more than a child, really, had been too fragile for the con, and Ezra had told Maude as much. Her reply had been cold-hearted and nothing more than he’d expected of her.

“I’m sure she’ll survive the pain of your departure, son. And I am equally sure her father can afford the finest doctors to ensure she recovers from the swoon.”

She had, but only because Ezra had, to his mother’s horror, informed the dear girl that he would have to return to his native land of Ireland to attend to his dear ailing grandfather. The marriage would not go forward, to his unending pain. He promised to write.

And of course, he hadn’t.

Hell, he hadn’t even written to his mother for nearly two months after that parting of the ways. By that time, his anger had cooled, mitigated by the run of bad luck that saw him run out of no fewer than five towns and nursing three cracked ribs and a then barely healed knife slice. He’d stumbled his way through the fight at the Seminole village, managed not to be shot by Larabee, and suffered through the nightmares that plagued him for days after his cowardly retreat…

He’d begun to realize that life with Mother was perhaps not the trial he’d convinced himself it was. The letter he’d written made no mention of that, of course—wouldn’t do to give her ammunition, not when he might be heading back her way sooner rather than later. No, he did what they always did when they went away mad. He ignored their previous falling out entirely and spun a tale about how well he’d been faring in the last two months.

He remembered the final paragraphs vividly.

 

> _You may remember my small difficulty at Fort Laramie some time back. Circumstances have conspired to allow me to expugn that particular warrant from my record. You will be amused to hear the method of such a pardon._
> 
> _Mother, I have been hired on as a protector of sorts, for a town only slightly more lawful than the worst of the Mexican bordertowns. I need only suffer through this position with my skin intact for a month and my pardon is assured. At which point I shall happily leave this blighted village and head for greener pastures._

Except, of course, he hadn’t. Nearly a month later and where was he? Why, riding his tired horse slowly back into that self same town, which he’d come to think of as less a hellhole and more a home.

He should write his mother, he thought, leaving Chaucer’s care to the young stable hand at the livery and heading toward the saloon. His anger at her, his bitterness, had waned this time, as it did every time.

After all, she was his mother, wasn’t she? he thought with an ironic smile.

His mind began composing his missive before he even reached his room, and he sat quickly once there, grabbing ink well, pen, and paper, and began…

 

> _Dear Mother,_
> 
> _I am sorry for the delay in writing—I assure you, I am in good health and currently unfettered._

“Unincarcerated” was such an ugly, though apt, term.

 

> _How are you faring in St. Louis? I hope you are finding your time lucrative and enjoyable._
> 
> _I am sure you are surprised to see that I am still residing in the town of Four Corners. Don’t worry—nothing has gone awry with my pardon. It sits folded safely away in my saddlebag. I have simply found that, perhaps, this town holds more promise than it initially appeared to._

He lifted his pen, dabbing the ink from the end to keep it from dripping—Mother did so hate untidy missives—and thought about the statement he’d just written. He wasn’t unaware of the effect the town was having on his “do-gooder” tendencies. His friends, the townspeople and local ranchers who respected him that little bit, even Mr. Larabee and his gruff demeanor that hid a loyalty that frankly surprised Ezra…. He was freer here to help when help was needed, to consider the possibility that looking out for number one wasn’t necessarily the best answer every time.

 

> _My “employment” as a peacekeeper here is relatively uneventful—though it has given me cause recently to oversee the tutelage of a darling young woman who would remind you of myself at eight years. I am ashamed to say, however, that she is faster with a fake cut than I was. I expect it is because of her smaller hands, and not my lack of dexterity at that age._

He forebore to mention that the girl had a mother who had kept her with her, even while serving her time in jail, so that the child could be raised by her own mother. Ezra knew Maude hadn’t always gotten away with her schemes, and as a child he’d shuddered at the thought of spending months behind bars. He found himself wondering now if it would really have been all that bad. The scars left by a particular belt buckle assured him he’d’ve survived his incarceration handily.

 

> _The town is growing rather more quickly than it appeared to be at the beginning of my tenure here. Whether that is owing to the fact that it has no less than seven hired guns to protect it from the “vile element” or not, I dare not venture a guess, but I have found the tables here remarkably kind, what with the constant run of cowboys long on recent wages and short on poker playing skills._
> 
> _I have also made a number of contacts here which I hope will bear fruit when needed, including the judge who so helpfully relieved me of the burden of the warrant on my head._

He paused, thinking of Vin and the poor man’s bounty, still unresolved. He thought of all the things he could say, but would never really put down on paper. How he’d found a home here, unlikely though that might seem. How he still felt the glow of a good deed done in helping to ensure that Terry Greer got to use her second chance.

How he was revelling in the second chance he’d gotten himself, when Chris Larabee had used the words “Don’t ever run out on me again” and meant that he expected Ezra to back him up—that he needed to trust that Ezra would do it.

In that expectation lay the seeds of something Ezra had realized fully when he’d followed through on Olivia’s play as she’d unwittingly called out that miserable cheater. He’d known, with a feeling of security almost unknown to him up to that point, that he’d always have guns at the ready to back him up, too. He’d known Vin and Buck and Nathan and JD were in the saloon. He’d known he’d hear at least four guns cock in response to his own.

The pain in his gut came again, briefly, a mere twinge he’d felt before and would likely feel again. No, he’d never felt that security with his mother—well, perhaps that once in Baton Rouge—and he supposed that wasn’t normal. Perhaps Terry Greer was more in line with what a mother _should_ be.

But his mother was his mother, and he loved her, whether it made sense or not, whether she showed her own love in any conventional way or not. And perhaps, just perhaps, he was gaining a family here as well. Not of the myriad cousins whose houses he’d shared growing up—the relations who liked him, the ones who didn’t—but a collection of men he felt drawn to, no matter their differences.

And he supposed, thinking of Chris Larabee’s scowl with a silent laugh, his new family was no more dysfunctional than his old one.

Enough wool-gathering, he berated himself, knowing he’d never speak any of that aloud. Best to end as he began, then.

 

> _Do write and let me know how you are faring. I shall write when I have news of interest, or when I tire of the lack of it._
> 
> _Your son,_
> 
> _Ezra_


	2. A Mother's Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! Real life is HARD!
> 
> Please note that this is a partial novelization of the episode "Witness." As such, large swaths of time are omitted because the show has both been there and done that and I have little to add that will advance my own plot. So go watch the episode again. Come on! You know you want to!

**Part II:  
A Mother's Fear**

Nearly three weeks later, he’d heard nothing from his mother, which wouldn’t have worried him had he been busy. But he wasn’t. Little had happened in Four Corners since Terry Greer left town, save that JD had received a letter from the reformed powderwoman, enclosing the five dollars Olivia had “liberated” from him. 

Ezra continued to ply his trade in the evenings, becoming more and more comfortable in his town and with his friends. Vin Tanner was a congenial enough companion when there were no marks to be had in the saloon, and this morning the two of them sat quietly outside that venerable establishment, sipping their coffee as they waited for the stage—which was likely to be the day’s only entertainment.

Josiah Sanchez walked silently out of the saloon to join them, coffee in hand. He leaned against the porch support, unconsciously facing toward the south end of town, where the stage would barrel in. Eventually.

Ezra let the quiet morning soothe him, even as it gave him leave to wonder at his mother’s silence. They were on good terms, for the moment. His last letter had been congenial, unprovoking. There was no benign reason for her silence.… He did hope she hadn’t run into any trouble, as he doubted he could extricate himself from his companions long enough to go to her aid if she had.

“There she goes again,” Vin murmured, a smile in his voice. “Like a mama Jackdaw.”

Ezra followed his friend’s gaze and saw Mary Travis sticking her head out of the Clarion’s front door. She searched the road to the south for a moment before ducking back in looking, indeed, remarkably like a certain fussy bird.

“Mrs. Travis is expecting a visitor, I take it?” he drawled, still preoccupied with his own thoughts but gentleman enough to respond to the obvious conversational gambit.

“Her son’s coming in today,” Josiah rumbled. “She’s been in a regular flitter waiting for his school holidays.”

Ezra snorted, quietly enough not to draw attention. His mother had certainly never awaited his arrival in anywhere a “flitter.” Unbidden, his mind recalled a certain meeting at a train station in North Carolina...

> “Mother!” Lord, he’d been so happy to see her. It had been six months since she’d gone off traveling. He’d enjoyed his sixth birthday with his cousins and widowed aunt, but this, he’d thought naively, was so much better!
> 
> Like a dolt, like an infant, he’d leapt at his mother the moment she disembarked, and she’d grabbed onto her slight, short little son’s shoulders and pulled him away with all the poise she could muster. It always had been considerable.
> 
> “Ezra,” she admonished, smiling tightly at a grinning, indulgent passerby while her voice held steel for her child. “A gentleman does not accost a lady in such a fashion. Good lord, boy, show some manners.”
> 
> Ezra had straightened up and stepped back immediately in the face of her disapproval. He hadn’t been sure what to do, then. Did he shake her hand, maybe? How was he supposed to greet her—she was his mother...? He looked back at his Aunt Carine in confusion—a confusion that only grew at the sad look on her face.
> 
> He always had liked Carine. 
> 
> With a sigh for his obvious obtuseness, Maude held out a hand and he took it dutifully and walked beside her as she headed for Carine.
> 
> “What have you been doing while I was away, child?” Mother asked, as if she hadn’t soundly berated him just a moment before.
> 
> “I learnt to ride a horse, Mother,” he responded, polite as could be. He’d be on his best behavior from now on, he’d promised himself.
> 
> “As any well-bred gentleman should,” she’d replied. The smile of approval she’d given him then had almost made up for the drubbing.

He sighed into his coffee as he realized that that was, quite possibly, the last time he’d ever allowed himself to appear genuinely glad to see his mother. Another important life lesson from Maude Standish….

“Billy!” 

Ezra looked up in alarm at the cry, but slumped comfortably back in his chair as he saw Mary Travis streaking toward the stage, a glad smile on her face that reminded him, unaccountably, of Terry Greer. She grabbed a small child bodily off the vehicle and smothered him a moment. The child stood ramrod straight and uncomfortable, and Ezra felt an absurd sort of reversed deja vu. He watched the interplay of mother and son avidly.

“Oh! Oh, sweetheart. Oh, I missed you so much!” She pawed at the child, who seemed to have not a clue what to do with her. Ezra knew the story of Billy Travis, of course. The child had been at the family home when his father was killed. He’d never spoken of the day—indeed, from what Ezra had heard at the tables, the child had hardly really spoken again at all. Mary Travis had sent her son to live with the judge not long after the murder and saw him rarely.

Ezra wondered, watching the child freeze under his mother’s attentions, whether Billy had chosen to simply stop missing her. In the end, it really was easier that way.

“Let me look at you. You're getting so big!”

“Which you might have noticed, had you kept him at your side,” Ezra commented snidely, too quietly for even Vin to hear.

“Good boy you got there ma'am,” Bob Carstairs called out from atop the vehicle. “Didn't give me an ounce of trouble.” The stage driver’s smiling face reminded Ezra of the indulgent stranger years ago. The poor man went back to lugging down a matched set of leather suitcases that would have made Maude drool.

“Well, of course,” Mrs. Travis replied, still fawning over the child most embarrassingly. “He's my son.”

Ezra tuned out the rest of the conversation, annoyed at his own weakness—at the longing and perverse jealousy he’d thought banished with the departure of young Miss Greer. He was an adult, for God’s sake. He had absolutely no reason to concern himself with Mary Travis or Billy Travis or any interactions between mothers and sons. Maude was too much on his mind these days. That was the problem. He looked down at the paper on the chair beside him, striving to distract himself.

“Who the hell needs that much stuff?” Vin asked in disgust, obviously speaking of the matching luggage. Ezra perked up at the thought of who might be carrying it, seizing on a different, more familiar distraction. A worthy mark would make him feel better. Maybe a banker or a well-heeled greenhorn, just passing through….?

The thought had Ezra’s gaze heading back to the stagecoach, and what he saw brought him to his feet in shock.  _Speak of the devil, and she shall appear..._

Josiah’s deep voice had a lusty air to it. “Now, that, my friends, is proof there is a God.”

Vin rose, too, sipping absently at his coffee. “Amen, Brother.”

Ezra let a small corner of his mind roll its eyes at the predictable reactions to the woman’s shapely form and delicate features. She twirled her parasol, looking for all the world as if she’d just stepped off the riverboat.

“Mother?” he gasped, headed toward her at a less than decorous pace.

He vaguely heard Josiah mention wolves as he passed, but his eyes were on the woman he’d actually started to worry about in the last week. She looked unhurt. She looked impatient. She looked, predictably, both disapproving and calculating…

She swung her gaze toward him as his heels rang out on the boardwalk; smiling benignly, but with a clear look of relief in her eyes. “Ezra, dear!” She motioned to her baggage. “You’ll of course see that these men treat my luggage with some respect?” God help him, the put upon stage office manager, Mr. Sheppard, was trying to load the whole damn pile on a push cart.

His mother looked around, sniffing and making a face. “I expect you’ll know the best hotel in town, won’t you?”

He relaxed slightly at her brusque tone. At least nothing was acutely wrong—it didn’t sound as if he’d be helping her dodge another posse any time soon. “There’s only one that would fit your high standard of accommodation, Mother,” he told her genteelly.

Giving Sheppard a commiserating grin, he hefted as many of the bags as he was able, leaving the man a mountain more of them besides. Sounds and grunts behind him signalled that a few more helping hands had chipped in—proof of what a pretty face could get you.

The stage tore off behind them, once they’d finally unloaded, and Ezra heard the horses squeal and Carstairs holler at someone to get out of the way. The man was damn near reckless sometimes.

“Well, this is a sweet little town, Ezra.”

Maude’s counterfeit tone set his teeth on edge. “Wonderful. Just what I want to hear.” He wondered if she was here to gloat, to ask for help, or simply to horn in on whatever con she thought he had going here.

“What on earth are you talking about?” she replied, innocent as a lamb.

She never changed, that was certain. Forever playing it close to her camisole. “Mother, what are you doing here?” He watched for the tell—the tiny shift of her shoulders… There. “Did something happen in St. Louis?”

“Well, things got a bit complicated there,” she replied diffidently.

“Oh, really?” There was more to it, he was sure. Damned if he’d ever get it out of her, though.

“I thought it prudent to disappear for a while,” she continued blithely. “Your letter spoke of this town's potential.”

He sighed angrily. “I knew I should have left off my return address.” Why in God’s name had he ever sent that letter anyway…? He almost choked at the cliche as his mother singled out one of the richest men in town for one of the oldest tricks in the books.

Lord, how hard would it be to hogtie her and land her on the next stage out…?

 

 

Maude had laughed lightly when Ezra told her he was due to ride patrol—”Patrol,” she’d drawled out. “How… law abiding… of you.”—and in honesty, Ezra didn’t actually  _have_  to ride patrol today. Yes, he was, well, “on duty,” as it were. Each of them had a time of day he was meant to be looking for trouble. But riding patrol was certainly overkill, given the absolute quiet of the little town lately. Ezra wondered when something interesting might finally happen again. 

Something beyond the whirlwind that was Maude Standish, of course.

He took Chaucer out to the nearer ranches, chatting with a few of the owners, pausing a bit longer to exchange words with Nettie Wells. He grimaced inwardly at the memory of it as he led his horse into the livery stable.

 

Mrs. Wells had been feeding the chickens—and apparently picking one out for the evening meal. She had a sack of feed slung on a strap across her chest and held a quietly resigned fowl upside down by its feet.

Ezra had chuckled to himself at the absurd picture of what Maude would do with a live chicken in her hand.

“Mr. Standish,” she’d greeted him, in that direct and almost-rude manner of hers. He hadn’t seen much of the woman, but he admired her drive. She seemed well-suited to the rigors of western living. He’d heard she had had a family of her own, years ago—lost her sons and husband to fever, if he remembered correctly. She lived with a young niece now, keeping the family ranch running smoothly.

“Mrs. Wells,” he’d returned, polite as always.

She’d looked him up and down, clearly disappointed by what she saw. So perhaps she and his mother were more alike than he’d thought.

“Can I do something for you?” She clearly had no time for him, but knew of his position and seemed willing to at least accord him a bit of respect for it.

“No ma’am,” he’d assured her, keeping up his facade. Lord, he was tired of being found lacking. “Simply keeping an eye on things.”

She snorted. “Right kind of you, Mr. Standish.” She’d looked around, comfortable in her place. “Not much happens here,” she told him, turning to look him in the eye. “Expect I’ll know who to call when something does.”

Ezra knew she didn’t mean him, and tipped his hat and moved on. 

 

“At least you see my worth, Chaucer,” he murmured, patting his horse soundly on the flank and receiving a head butt in response. 

He sighed, doling out oats for Chaucer’s evening meal. Time to gird his loins and enter the fray, he decided, damning himself for ever writing that letter. Lord, what was he thinking?

Well, he’d made his bed—it was time to get strapped down to it. He knew where he’d find her, of course. She’d meet him on his own turf. Turf she was undoubtedly working at making hers.

He groaned as he heard her soft southern drawl waft out of the saloon and into the darkness as he stood in the doorway to let his eyes adjust. “He takes this little skirt,” she was saying, in a fair facsimile of a doting mother’s tone. “And he puts it on the poor dog and makes her dance the cancan—”

 _Of course,_  he thought, walking ever closer as she continued the damn dog story.  _Why not Elsie?_  “ ‘One must always rely on the classics,’ ” he muttered, weaving in and out between the tables and starting up the small flight of stairs to his objective.

When he reached the table— _his_ table—he tried very hard not to be hurt by the laughter and the broad, mocking smiles that greeting him. Yes, he counted these men his friends, but they were hardly  _close_ friends. And they were no match for Maude’s charm.

Vin smirked up at him as his mother had the wisdom to fall silent. “Ezra... we're just hearing about you and your dog.”

“The naked dancer.” In the uncertain light of the saloon, JD looked positively cruel, which somehow surprised Ezra until he remembered that the young man was still in his teens—still prone to speaking first and thinking somewhat later.

Ezra gritted his teeth and gripped his mother’s shoulder in a firm hand. “If you'll excuse us, gentlemen,” he said implacably. “My mother needs her rest.”

“My, my,” Maude murmured, the smile on her face contrasting with the tension Ezra could see in her frame as she raked in her winnings, which were, of course, considerable.

“She looks just fine to me,” Josiah pointed out. Dear Lord, how that man was ever a preacher, Ezra couldn’t quite figure out. The carnal desires that ran through him...

“She done cleaned us out,” Vin said, sitting back, as if giving them leave to go.

“Well, how about that?” Ezra replied coldly. Vin had the grace to look abashed.

Maude shoved coins into her purse, still playing light-hearted and slightly tipsy, but he knew she realized she’d lost this hand. “Well, I thank you gentlemen for the libations.”

“You need some help carrying my money?” Josiah asked, all lovesick pup. Ezra thanked God the man was dirt poor. If Maude became Mrs. Sanchez…. He shuddered at the thought.

Maude rose as gracefully as she could, smiling that siren’s smile. ”I think I can handle it.”

“Good night, Maude,” Josiah rumbled, watched with rapt attention while she drained the scotch that had probably been sitting virtually untouched at her side all night.

“Good night,” she replied, a possibly genuine affection to her movements as she patted the preacher on his chest and let Ezra lead her down the stairs and toward the door.

Good Lord, he thought, swallowing bile. Mother and Josiah...

“I've never had a dog named Elsie,” he reminded her, anger warring with a weariness that came from a lifetime of repetition. “And I certainly never dressed her up.”

His mother was, as usual, unrepentant. “Well, it's still an adorable story.”

Ezra prayed briefly for patience. “I would appreciate it, Mother, if you would refrain from stringing along my companions—”

“They’re a lively bunch, Ezra,” she broke in, ignoring his reprimand. “I had something more…” She pretended to search for a word. “‘Stoic’ in mind.”

“You have yet to meet our illustrious leader,” he sighed, steering her toward her hotel.

“Oh yes, Mr. Larabee, isn’t it?” She smiled blithely at the night desk manager as they made their way to the third floor suite she’d finagled from them. “Josiah was telling me all about him.” She went coy.

“Did Josiah also tell you that he himself is a penniless preacher without neither a weather-tight church nor a congregation to call his own?” he ground out, gaining a measure of satisfaction to see the little-girl pout on his mother’s face at the news.

“Oh, well,” she waved her hand as if it was of no consequence. “I’m certain I’ll find something of interest to do in your lovely little burg.” Her gaze was absentmindedly calculating as they reached her door. “You know, if you have something of import to do in the morning.”

Ezra’s head tipped back for a moment, as if he was praying to the God who’d clearly forsaken him. “I’m certain I can clear my schedule of pressing matters for one day, Mother,” he allowed, stressing the time limit. A genuine—and rather surprising, to him at least—smile suddenly graced his features. Somewhere inside, he found he actually was happy to see her. “I shall be by at ten for breakfast. The restaurant across the street provides a more than adequate repast.”

Maude patted him on the chest with the same vague affection she’d shown the preacher—a fact which made him shudder. “You’ll be here at eight, darling,” she told him. “Why waste half the day?”

With that, she shut the door between them and Ezra’s chin hit his chest.

To think, he’d ever envied anyone  _more_  time with their mother.

 

> Ezra tried to ready himself for the blow, but there was no way to prepare for the crash of that enormous fist across his face. He would have fallen, but for the two goons holding his arms out rigid at his sides. His left shoulder felt fit to burst and he hissed in pain, closing his eyes at his own weakness. Mother would never approve of such a loss of control, now would she? 
> 
> He just hoped he’d be able to extricate himself from this disaster, as he was confident she’d decided that retreat was the better part of valor.
> 
> “I’m gonna ask you one more time, kid,” Ratner grumbled, the smell of whiskey and rotten teeth almost finishing Ezra off for him. “Where’d you stash the money?”
> 
> Ezra smiled suddenly, knowing there’d be blood in it. It was unsightly as hell, but it did help a man seem a little less sane and a lot more dangerous sometimes. At fifteen, Ezra wasn’t much to inspire fear, but he could play the insanity card when he needed to. Pity he knew it wouldn’t work in this instance.
> 
> “I don’t know where your money is, sir,” he drawled, trying to compensate for the tooth he felt hanging on the right side of his mouth. “My mother ran out on me. She’s left me with nothing.”
> 
> “The hell she has, son,” Ratner bit out, stepping away for a moment as if to control his anger. Ezra was pretty certain there’d be no controlling it. Fifteen hundred dollars was a king’s ransom. “I’m betting you know exactly where that bitch is.” He came in close again. “And you’re gonna tell me. And then, after I have that fun I was telling you about? I’m going to rip her silky voiced little throat out and let you watch.”
> 
> Ezra ignored the fear that shot through him at that thought, and his eyes hardened. “Sir, I haven’t a clue where she is,” he said truthfully. God he hoped she was far from here, hoped the distraction of ripping him limb from limb had given her time to board a stage or a train or any God damned thing that would get her out of harm’s way. “But if I did know, I assure you it would be a cold day in Hell before I told you anything.”
> 
> Ratner leaned in even closer, close enough to whisper in Ezra’s ear. It was the moment Ezra knew that he had grossly miscalculated—he’d thought Ratner’s greed would outstrip his anger.
> 
> “Say hello to the devil for me when you get there.”
> 
> God, he was so wrong.
> 
> The pain in his gut was almost all-encompassing. He didn’t feel his shoulder rip out of its socket as Ratner’s men still held him while the man himself shoved the blade through Ezra’s own belly. He barely heard the gunshot that dropped Ratner—never really knew what happened to the rest of them. All he heard above the scream of pain was the louder scream of a woman, calling his name.

“BILLY!" 

Ezra sat bolt upright in bed, one arm wrapping around his stomach in reflex, though after so long, not even a phantom pain remained.

“BILLY!”

Good Lord, what was wrong with Mrs. Travis? Sounded as if Billy might be in a bit of trouble, once his mama caught up to him.

Ah well. At least he’d have time to get properly ready for breakfast, being awakened so early. He slid quickly out of bed and went through his ablutions, surprised when a knock came at his door as he was wiping the last of the shaving cream from his chin.

“Ezra, get up!”

He grinned lightly at JD’s attempt to sound like Chris Larabee at his most commanding and reached for the door. Wouldn’t the young man be surprised to see him awake with the dawn. “As you can see, I am—” he broke off at the look of concern on the young man’s face.

“Billy Travis has gone missing,” JD told him breathlessly. “Chris wants us all searching the town. Might have to head out and ride the area.”

Ezra grabbed his jacket and hat without comment and closed the door behind him before following JD down the stairs. He wondered what Billy had been thinking, running off from a mother who was so blatantly absorbed with him. Chances were he’d gone off to explore his town again after so long away, but he should have known how his mother would worry.

A frisson of dread ran down his back as he sent JD off to search elsewhere and made a round of the saloon, finding nothing. The child Ezra had seen coming off that stage didn’t seem the type to hare off in search of adventure at—he pulled out his watch—seven-thirty in the morning.

Hell. Seven-thirty.

“Mother,” he breathed in resignation. Well this would be amusing to explain.

He made one more turn around the ground floor and headed to the small root cellar, finding nothing. The roof was equally empty, and he saw Vin on the other side of the street, going roof to roof. He waved to let the tracker know he’d check them on this side and did a quick and thorough run from one end of the street to the other, ending up on the roof of the hotel. He slipped in the access door and came down the stairs right by his mother’s room.

“You’re late, dear,” she told him, wrinkling her nose in response to the sweat he’d worked up in the warm morning. “And sweating.”

Ezra snorted at her shallowness. “I’m afraid I’ll be unable to join you for breakfast, this morning, Mother,” he told her, ready for a lengthy explanation.

“The Travis boy,” she offered, derailing him neatly, as she was so very good at doing.

He stared at her in surprise. “How did you…?”

She waved her hand, ushering him back into the hallway and taking his elbow, leading him to the stairs. “That woman has a set of lungs on her,” she griped. “Woke me from a sound sleep, crying and weeping for the boy.” She nodded decisively as they hit the ground floor and he started to lead her toward the restaurant. “Your Mr. Larabee took her in hand finally and calmed her enough for decent folk to get on with their day.” Her brow crinkled as if she sniffed something unpleasant. “He’s rather dour, isn’t he?”

Ezra sighed, thrumming with an internal push to get his mother seen to and get back to the search. He felt so strongly that something was wrong here, though whether it was intuition or his own preoccupations informing that feeling, he couldn’t say. He almost stumbled when they hit the boardwalk across the street and his mother turned away from the restaurant. Lord, he had no time for this.

“Mother—”

“Well, dear, I expect the ‘peacekeepers’ in this town will have to see to finding the child.” She sniffed. “He probably just ran off to the local pond, or something—you were like that. But a mother worries.” Her hand patted his. “I’ll go see if I can’t give her the wisdom of my experience.”

Ezra was impressed that he didn’t choke on his own bile. He merely sighed and allowed his mother to lead them toward the Clarion, where he could see Vin and Chris talking to Mrs. Travis.

“Since when do you go riding after little runaway boys?” she asked coyly as they approached the tense little group, though he heard a shade of the disapproval she’d shown him in Kansas City. Yes, his do-gooder tendencies were showing themselves again, weren’t they?

He refused to rise to the bait. “Well, the kid's mother wields considerable influence around here,” he explained blithely. “It'll be good to have her owing me a favor.”

Mother patted him on the cheek as though he were not much older than the missing child. “That's my boy,” she murmured in approval. “Always working an angle.”

Ezra swallowed bile again and handed her up to the newspaper’s porch. JD and Josiah had arrived as well, and someone had considerately looped Chaucer’s reins over the hitching post beside Prophet. Ezra took that to mean he’d be riding with the preacher. He wished he could say whether that was a good or bad thing.

“Where do you want us to start looking?” JD asked, looking to Vin for the answer. Ezra swung up into the saddle as Tanner gave the sheriff his orders, clearly including Josiah and Ezra in the mandate.

“Why don't you start at Baker Pass, then head south from there.”

Josiah turned Prophet toward the Pass, taking a moment to gaze at Maude, who smiled absently back at him.

“Ma’am,” he rumbled with a tip of his hat.

Ezra sighed and kneed Chaucer into movement. The byplay between the preacher and his mother had distracted him for a moment, but as they rode along in near silence, eyes on every bush, he found himself tensing again. Waiting for the hammer to fall.

At least until JD began to expound on Maude Standish’s virtues. Josiah showed himself to be a good deal more aware of his mother’s conniving nature than Ezra had at first feared. Of course, JD was as clueless and naive as Eza knew him to be.

And Billy Travis was nowhere to be found.

He’d’ve had to have been terrified, or otherwise highly motivated, to reach the Pass at all, but there was no sign of him on the way and nothing to the south. As the afternoon wore on, they agreed that JD should run into town and check on the others to see if they had found anything.

Which left Ezra alone with Josiah.

Normally, Ezra actually enjoyed spending time with Josiah Sanchez. He’d travelled the world and seen things Ezra had only read about, and he had an open and nimble mind that made for many of those promised lively conversations.

But a love-struck Josiah was something he was finding altogether unpalatable. Or perhaps it was just the focus of the preacher’s ardor.

“Your mother is quite a woman,” Josiah said finally. Ezra had been waiting for it, of course. Maude Standish could charm the ears off of a jackrabbit, after all—Josiah Sanchez was certainly no match for her.

“She is that,” he muttered back, watching the shrubs and scrub oak around them as the afternoon shadows lengthened, hoping for a sign of a young boy’s passage. Surely someone had found the boy by now. Lord, if the child had to spend the night out in the desert...

“Raising a child on her own,” Josiah continued, enraptured, as if there weren’t thousands of women doing it right now—one of whom was looking to them to find that child. “It must have been difficult.”

“Mother certainly seemed to think so,” he replied evenly. Clearly too difficult. Why else would she have deposited him in so many places, so often?

Ezra thought bitterly of the parallels between himself and Billy Travis. At least the judge and his wife seemed a safer haven than some of the places he’d been dumped at. Lord he wished Billy would just leap out from the bushes and save him from this discussion.

“They found him!” JD’s voice from the ridge above was a call from Heaven.

“Oh, thank God,” Ezra murmured, only peripherally giving thanks for Billy’s return. Mostly he was just glad to gallop up the ridge toward his young friend and leave Josiah’s questions behind.

 

 

“Nathan and Chris are in with them now,” Buck told them as they rode up to the Clarion in the falling dusk. “He’s pretty shook up.” There was a hardness to his voice that spoke of dire consequences for those who had brought such terror to the child. “Somebody took a shot at them when Vin flushed the boy out.” Ezra’s heartbeat picked up a moment, though it was clear everyone had come away unscathed. “Poor kid thinks the devil’s gonna kill his mama if he stays.” 

Threats to a chld’s only parent… Ezra sighed tiredly, flashing back to his dream this morning and a few more choice memories from his own sordid childhood. Apparently he and Billy had more in common than he thought.

“Chris wants two of us here keeping watch,” Buck continued. “I figure me and JD can do it till the saloon closes.”

His significant stare wasn’t lost on Ezra. “Josiah? Perhaps you and I could while away the remainder of the night?” It was the farthest thing from his desires, but Chris and Vin had been shot at today, after all, and Nathan would need to be ready should Mary or Billy show ill effects from the day’s concerns.

Josiah clapped him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble. “I’ll meet you here, son.”

Ezra ground his teeth and held his tongue, ignoring the teasing smile on Buck’s face as Josiah headed to the saloon. Lord, he did hate Mr. Sanchez’s turn of phrase. Never before had it seemed so inappropriate.

He patted down his jacket, raising dust and grunting in dismay at the state of his clothing. Well, he’d spent too many tense hours in the saddle today to be of any use at the tables anyway. Perhaps he’d just get some rest before his turn at guard. At the very least it would ensure that he could avoid his mother, which would put an unexpectedly pleasant spin on the evening.

“Gentlemen,” he said quietly. “I believe I shall return to my room and shed what I can of this damnable dust.” He tipped his hat to JD, who was just now settling himself against the wall of the Clarion, trying not to look as if he was still favoring his left shoulder. Ezra knew from experience just how long a blade wound could take to heal, and Coltrane’s man had been a deft throw, hitting much too close to JD’s shoulder joint for comfort.

Ezra groaned inwardly as he crossed the street to the saloon. Thoughts of Coltrane led to thoughts of Terry and Olivia Greer which led to thoughts of Mary and Billy Travis which led to thoughts of his mother... which put him in a decidedly bad mood.

The saloon was full to bursting and he let the cacophony roll over him for a moment, soothing him. He could make a fair amount tonight, if he was so inclined. He found he wasn’t, though, and that disinclination disturbed him. At least until he considered Billy Travis and the job he had to do later in the night.

Lord, he  _was_  becoming an upstanding citizen, wasn’t he? It was funny how that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it used to. He smiled again at his strange, changed life, and headed upstairs to get some rest, his heart lighter than it had been since his mother had arrived.

Of course, that all came crashing down when he unlocked his door to find her sitting on his bed reading the book he’d started the day she arrived.

“Mother?” He forced himself to relax, to respond civilly.

“I understand they found the boy,” she replied softly.

He couldn’t imagine she cared. “Yeah, scared out of his wits, but we found him.”

“Poor boy.” It was her painted-on concerned voice and he fought the cynical smile it called for. Her voice turned sly. “You've ingratiated yourself quite well with this town.”

 _Ah, yes. Here it comes,_  he thought.  _Time to make a little more money off her child’s back._  “I've made a few acquaintances, nothing more.”

She rode over him, dollar signs already in her eyes. Lord, did she care about nothing else?

 _Do you?_  his mind asked meanly.

“A position rife with opportunity, wouldn't you say?” his mother purred. “I found the perfect mark-- a Mr. Wheeler. Owns the hotel." Ezra was surprised to find himself angry. Not that she’d found a mark, but that she’d found a mark in  _his_  town. "In fact he and I are spending this very evening together.”

Her coy statement set his teeth on edge. “Really?”

“We'll use the same con we pulled in Chicago,” she was saying. His mind tried to tune her out, which in turn shocked him. When had he ever refused a good con? Before Kansas City, of course. “You know, the cotton gin investment?”

“No,” he replied coldly. Billy Travis was no doubt huddled in his room, terrified for his mother who, unlike Maude, had done nothing to draw the danger he thought she was in. That his own mother should be trying to distract him from helping the young boy…

Well, now, perhaps he really  _did_  care for something other than money. How strange.

“Excuse me?” It was the same tone of voice she used when he was a child and she took him to task. But he wasn’t a child anymore, and this was  _his_  home.

“I said no. Is that clear?” He expected her to pout and was surprised to see her don her poker face instead, as if what he was saying hurt her. “The answer is no.”

She wrung her hands a bit, and he wondered again at her arrival. Her last letter had had her doing so well in St. Louis, but that had obviously changed. He took pity, sitting next to her, trying to explain without explaining, to excuse his position without leaving himself open to her machinations. “Now, now,” he said quietly, patting the hands she had clasped in her lap. “Listen, mother, I've got this town believing that they can trust me to protect it from people like you…” He chuckled as he reached out and fondly tapped her chin. “Hell, from people like me."

“I thought that protection job was just a front,” she murmured, disbelieving.

He had, too. For a while. “Well, of course it is,” he averred, standing and moving away to hide his response, though he knew the unsteadiness of his words said it all.

“Now, you haven't gone and joined the ranks of the employed, have you?” she asked, trying to sound light. He flashed on Terry Greer—how happy she’d been to have an honest job for once... “Now, that would be undignified.” 

Of course it would, he thought as he stripped off his tie. It wouldn’t do to work for the good of anyone but yourself, would it? 

“Ezra... Ezra…” The disappointment fairly oozed from her, along with an anger that wasn’t her norm in a situation like this. “What a waste of your God-given gifts. I raised you better than that.”

He froze—heart, soul, and body. “R-raised me?” he stuttered, incredulous. A handful of images ran through his mind: Terry Greer clasping her daughter’s hand like a lifeline, Mary Travis running through the street screaming her son’s name, Gloria Potter hugging her children to her as she faced down the people whose fear demanded that the killer of those children’s father go free...

“Did you say raised me?” He turned to face her, controlling every movement as he could not control his words. “Come on, now, mother. You didn't raise me as well as, uh... as a stray cat raises a litter.” A glimmer of hurt blinked in her eyes and was gone, buried by anger. Ezra’s own anger blinded him to it and his words continued. “You—you dumped me. Remember? At every aunt and uncle's house you could find.” The phantom pain of a belt across his back was ignored as his eyes hardened to jade. “Unless, of course, you needed me... for a con.”

It was his mother’s turn to freeze, and for a few short seconds he revelled in the hurt that broke through her glare once again. “I taught you a trade. I did the best I could.” His anger evaporated suddenly at the pained declaration, but it was far too late to take anything back. “I'm sorry if it wasn't good enough.”

She stalked out, and Ezra read an absurd combination of irritation, hurt, and… fear… in her movements. 

Good lord.... What the hell happened in St. Louis?

Ezra settled heavily on the edge of his bed, reviewing the last few minutes. She was hurt. Not hurt that he’d said what he’d said—God knew he’d said worse to her with little ill effect—but hurt that he wouldn’t take part in her con.... Hurt that he wouldn’t help….

She was asking for help.

Well, hell.

He considered going after her, but realized immediately that he’d get no answer from her as to what had put her in her current predicament. He looked at his pocketwatch as he removed it from his vest and unbuttoned the garment. No, Maude wouldn’t confess to a damn thing.

Luckily, once the telegraph office opened, Ezra would have other means of obtaining his information.


	3. A Mother's Anger

**Part III:  
A Mother's Anger**

> “I have to stay  _here_ ?” Ezra had whined, his already jaded eight-year-old eyes taking in the ramshackle houses and trash-lined streets of the Irish “flatland” in St. Louis. People were everywhere; dirty, coarse, ugly, and in many cases, drunken.
> 
> “Only for a short while, Ezra,” his mother assured him. Even at his age, even with his anger brimming at having been removed from what had been a very pleasant arrangement in Kansas CIty, he knew his mother was worried about something. He was used to being dumped.
> 
> He just wasn’t used to worrying about her safety instead of his own.
> 
> “You’ll come back, though?” he asked quietly as they headed toward the door of a tall brick building. “Soon?”
> 
> She’d been uncharacteristically serious. “As soon as I can, baby.” She brightened in that way that told him the discussion was over. “Now your Aunt Eilis is your daddy’s sister, and she and your Uncle Pat might seem a bit rustic, but they’ll take good care of you. Your cousins are about your age.” She frowned. “I think.”
> 
> They weren’t. Michael and his twin sister Kate were six, Kieran was four, Lila two, and Aunt Eilis was clearly about to bring another child into the world. She also clearly didn’t think much of Maude.
> 
> Maude had turned him to her after the introductions and given him a light peck on the cheek.
> 
> “You’ll behave here, Ezra, you hear me?” There was a fear in her eyes that meant… something. All he knew was that this time, he really did fear she’d never return. “You remember what you’re to do if you need me?”
> 
> He’d swallowed hard, hoping he’d never have to contact her that way. Hoping she’d just breeze right back to him, safe and sound.
> 
> “Take care of yourself, Mother,” he whispered. He didn’t plead for her to stay anymore. It didn’t do any good.
> 
> “I always do, son,” she promised.
> 
> And she was gone.
> 
>  
> 
> Michael and Ezra had sized each other up, then. Michael was small, like Ezra. Even skinnier, if it were possible. His hair was that same boring Irish brown, his eyes a similar Irish green. Kate was a beauty even at that age with rich auburn hair and glowing gray eyes—as graceful and sweet as Michael was clumsy and coarse.
> 
> Ezra learned a great many things in the year and a half he spent with the Scanlans. He read Lady Morgan and other Irish defenders, learned more Irish than was probably healthy (or gentlemanly), changed diapers, and cradled a colicky infant night after night (to the delight of Aunt Eilis, who had more than enough to handle with the other four). He even conned his, Kate’s, and Michael’s way into a nearby Protestant school for a semester, after teaching the twins the fine art of the non-Irish dialect.
> 
> He also taught Michael to fight, and therein lay the two boys’ life-long connection. Michael was the runt of the gang of kids that ruled the slum, and what little he had ended up on other kids’ plates more often than not. Ezra had been there, of course, and had learned enough dirty tricks to earn the reputation the Irish had for brawling and violence.
> 
> When Maude finally returned, wan and thin and uncharacteristically glad to see him, Ezra left a cousin as old as Ezra had been when he appeared, and just as able to take care of himself and his siblings.
> 
> He’d also shown Michael the joy of learning, and while the young mick was never able to con his way back into academia, he continued to read and learn and pulled himself and his siblings out of the slums and into the middle class. He and his youngest brother John owned a saloon in St. Louis now (and Lord, wouldn’t that just be a dream?), and had an ear to the ground for everything and anything that might be happening in his town.

 

Michael never grew to like Maude, but he never stopped worshipping Ezra. If anyone could get Ezra answers to his mother’s situation, Michael could.

“Give you a penny for your thoughts.” The deep words shook Ezra from his contemplations and the chuckle that followed rolled through the nearly silent night. “You could turn a tidy profit on it, given the right poker partner.”

“My thoughts are hardly worth your time, Mr. Sanchez,” he told his companion, warning him off gently, but in no uncertain terms. It was nearing that time of false dawn when the shadows turned vague and ominous. Ezra rose quietly, feeling the desert cold that had settled into his bones. “I believe I’ll make a quick round of the area.”

Josiah’s bulk shrugged in the darkness, taking Ezra’s demand for privacy in stride. “Watch yourself.”

“That sir,” Ezra drawled, sliding into the night, “is what I do best.”

 

Ezra’s thoughts returned to that year and a half in St. Louis. It had been hard—hard to get enough food, hard to fight for his and his cousins’ place in the pecking order, hard to see this family of hard working people scrape for every inch. At the time, he’d thought it was just proof of his mother’s assertion that honest work got you nowhere, but he’d seen enough in the years since to know that his family’s work ethic wasn’t the problem....

Yes, it had been hard, but the hardest part had been worrying about his mother. That separation had been different from the others, yet even now, twentysome years later, he had no idea why. He just remembered too many nights packed into the family bedroom or sleeping on the overcrowded roof, staring at the sky and praying she was all right. Praying that she’d come back safe and whole.

His heart went out to Billy Travis. Lord, it was horrible to fear for the life of the only parent you had left.

He checked the streets and the alleyways, looked up at the dark windows of his mother’s suite at the hotel, and returned to the front stoop of the Clarion, to play cards with Josiah in the growing dawn and to wait for the telegraph office to open.

* * * * *

“Ezra, wake up!”

Chris Larabee was much more commanding than JD Dunne. Though Era thought fuzzily that it was perhaps Larabee’s willingness to shoot you in the ass if you didn’t obey that made his requests carry so much more weight.

Ezra dragged himself to the door and opened it a crack. He hadn’t bothered to change after JD and Buck relieved him and Josiah at dawn and he’d dropped by the telegraph office. He probably looked a sight.

“Mr. Larabee,” he drawled. “Surely a night on guard duty warrants more than—” he fished his watch out of his pocket and groaned— “an hour and a half of repose?”

Larabee smiled tightly, a conniving look to him that had Ezra straightening up. “Figured it was about time we found out exactly who we’re dealing with,” he said quietly. “Thought you might like in.”

Ezra shook his head with a grin. “I shall be down as soon as I’ve refreshed my attire.”

Larabee looked him up and down. “Might want to wear something less colorful.”

And he was gone.

Ezra smiled, stripping off his vest and contemplating his dress for the day.

“Why, Mr. Larabee,” he murmured to himself. “What do you have planned?”

 

 

“Mr. Standish!”

Ezra had just reached the doors to the livery and froze for a moment, gritting his teeth as young master Markham ran up, brandishing a telegram. He didn’t have time for this right now.

“Telegram, Mr. Standish,” Petey panted, an oblivious smile on his face as he handed over the missive and received a coin in response. “Thank you, sir.”

Ezra shook his head, contemplating the folded yellow paper in his hand.

“Time to go, Ezra,” Josiah called, ducking his head into the shadows. “Team’s waiting. We’ll meet you at the knoll just south of the Daansen’s place.” Sanchez grinned, throwing an enormous black poncho at him. “Don’t think you’re going to fool anyone with that get up.”

Ezra looked down at his dark green jacket. Did they take him for a moron? He _had_ planned to change before he mounted the stage.

Though the poncho would mean he could keep his own jacket on under it....

With a grin for Larabee’s plan, he donned the poncho and a misshapen hat, slipping a fake mustache on his face and his riverboat hat into his poncho for good luck, and sauntered out to meet the stage.

 

 

Three hours later, all Ezra could do was shake his head. Damn. Mother sure could pick them.

“Why would Mr. Wheeler want Stephen Travis dead?” JD asked, glaring at the two henchmen cowering in the holding cell.

“If I were a betting man—” Ezra began.

“Which you are,” Buck interrupted.

“—I’d say it had something to do with land.”

Mrs. Travis nodded. The woman couldn’t stop pacing, and the two men behind bars shrunk from her every time she neared them. Not that he blamed them.

A mother’s anger was not to be underestimated. Ezra was almost sorry Buck had pulled her off the man, though he hadn’t managed it before she’d blackened his eye and bloodied his nose.

“Stephen had been investigating some of the local land deeds,” she confirmed, her mind clearly far away with her son and his protector. “Wheeler owns a number of the local share farms.”

“Wheeler didn’t kill your husband, Mrs. Travis,” Vin put in quietly. Ezra wasn’t surprised to see Buck nod as he himself did. “We need to find out who he was working with.”

Ezra also wasn’t surprised by JD’s reaction. “How do you know Wheeler didn’t kill him?”

“Mr. Wheeler is the consummate shady businessman, JD,” Ezra responded. “As cowardly as he is greedy.” He snorted in derision. “That man wouldn’t have had the... metal... to kill a fly.”

Buck chuckled. “Probably afraid the fly might bite back,” he agreed.

“Maybe we can use that to our advantage,” Vin said quietly. “Put the fear of God in him.”

Ezra grinned as a plan formed in his mind. He looked out at the darkening sky, contemplating his chances of getting his mother to agree to take part in his ruse.

The thought of her reminded him of the telegram he had yet to read. He unfolded it and read the words.

> Got an O’Malley cousin involved in the typical. STOP They were upset. STOP Cleaned her out and she made off best she could. STOP Seems done with. STOP MScanlan END

“What’re you thinking, Ezra?” Vin asked.

Damn it, Mother.

“Ez?”

He looked at Buck in irritation. His name was Ezra, was it so difficult? Just because Vincent Tanner and... what would Buck’s real name be? he wondered—just because they couldn’t use their full names was no reason to shorten his.

The O’Malleys, Mother? _Really?_ One of the largest and rowdiest of the St. Louis clans, the O’Malleys were known for biting back hard when bitten. He hoped Michael was right about it being done with. At least they wouldn’t think to look for her in a little dust bowl of a town like Four Corners.

“Gentlemen,” he said, tucking the telegram back into his pocket and focusing on the crisis at hand. “If you’ll give me a bit of time, I believe I have a way to... persuade Mr. Wheeler to help us in our pursuit of justice.”

He headed out into the wind and toward the hotel, wondering vaguely if it would be available for purchase once Wheeler was duly incarcerated. Though if they let Mrs. Travis at him, incarceration might be the least of his worries.

The thought of that woman’s anger caused a sudden memory to surface—as clear and vivid as the memory of that blade sliding into his gut.

> “Mr. Ratner, I am certain you didn’t mean to threaten a mere child to demand something I cannot give you.”
> 
> Maude Standish’s anger was backed up by the small but very deadly gun in her hand.
> 
> “Your son may be a child, but he ain’t exactly an innocent, is he, Mrs. Stanton?” Ratner’s hand had squeezed Ezra’s shoulder just that much harder and he’d fought not to wince in front of his mother.
> 
> “And you’re not exactly bulletproof, so perhaps we should just agree to go our separate ways.” Ezra had marveled at his mother’s smooth delivery even as he’d feared for her life—and more—should Ratner turn on her.
> 
> He’d had almost passed out from relief when Ratner let him go, but the man’s next words had that relief washed away in an instant.
> 
> “This isn’t over, Mary,” he hissed. “I know you have my money and I ain’t afraid to do whatever it takes to get it back.”
> 
> Maude flicked her eyes at her son, a mute command for him to join her behind the safety of her firearm. “I don’t have the money, as I told you. We both leave this game penniless, Horace,” she told him. Her voice suddenly chilled to freezing. “But if you touch my son again, I will ensure that you _never_ get another chance to play the game.”

Ezra smiled wryly at the memory as he entered the hotel by the back door, sneaking to the hallway to spy Wheeler, who stood still as a rabbit in the front parlor. Yes, a mother’s anger was formidable. Perhaps he could tap into what little shred of that feeling his mother had and pull off this con.

He snuck up the back stairs and knocked at her door, unsurprised to have her answer beautifully attired and ready for a night of conning. He was impressed that she’d managed to leave St. Louis with so many of her possessions intact. The O’Malleys were not kind to those who went against them.

Her face was smooth and unperturbed, but Ezra had had a lifetime of reading her tells. She was still hurt and starting to feel trapped by what she’d lost in Missouri. She had probably cleaned out most of her reserve just to get this far and if she didn’t get a con soon, she’d be stuck.

“Ezra,” she greeted him coolly. “I’m afraid I haven’t much time to talk. Things to do, you understand?”

He nodded. “Of course, Mother. I just thought I would see how you were faring.” He sat deliberately on her divan, signally that he was going nowhere until he’d had his say. “I, myself, have had quite a busy day.”

Maude turned from him, bending forward to powder her nose in the mirror at the dressing table. “Playing lawman again?” she asked meanly. “I’m certain it must have been very amusing.”

“Not really,” he conceded. “Though I did manage to find out some information on your mark for the evening.” He smiled tightly as she paid sudden attention without seeming to. “It appears he’s one of the men instrumental in the death of this town’s esteemed journalist and in the terrorizing of his only son.”

His mother stood stock still a moment before dropping into the chair before the dressing table. Ezra found himself pleased and not a little surprised by the disgust and horror on her face.

“Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to divine who he was working with.” He grinned at the anger rising in her eyes. A mother’s anger. “I wondered if perhaps you might be able to help us with that. I’m sure you need a comforting shoulder right about now.”

She was silent for a moment. Thinking. Finally she looked up, a shrewd glow in her bright blue eyes. “The con in Longview?” she asked.

He nodded and rose. “The very same.”

“You’ve... shown disapproval of my lifestyle?” she threw out, setting the rules of the con.

“Now that I’m a lawman, how could I not?” God, this was fun. “I believe, given his business dealings, that a hint of impropriety would not be badly received.”

“You’re thankless,” she continued, warming to the role. “A selfish child who doesn’t appreciate all I’ve given up for you—”

“Now, Mother,” he started, alarmed despite himself.

She grinned at him without malice. “Just getting into the role, Darling.” She rubbed her hands together. “You’d best get your friends in position. He wouldn’t by any chance be downstairs right now, would he?”

Ezra grinned. “Indeed, he would.” He held up a hand. “Just don’t slap me this time.”

She patted his cheek lightly and gestured for him to slip out the back way. “We’ll just do what it takes to make it real, shall we?”

He sighed. She was definitely going to hit him again.

He watched from the hall as his mother stomped—delicately, of course—down the stairs, startling Wheeler with a sigh of distress.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Standish?” he asked timidly. Lord, he was just the kind of cowardly mark his mother loved.

“I apologize, my dear sir,” she said, visibly relaxing and now seeming a bit sad and disappointed. “I guess children just can’t always be what you’d like them to, can they?”

Ezra grunted at that, wondering if she knew he was watching. Wheeler just looked like a startled yearling. Maude pasted on a bright smile and slipped a hand through Wheeler’s frozen arm. Ezra’s thought that she knew he was there was confirmed as she waved him off with the hand behind her back.

“I believe I could use a drink, Mr. Wheeler, if you’d be so kind as to accompany me.”

Ezra smirked and ran, stopping short when he saw Garvey Puckett and Tyrone Smith heading toward the hotel bar with a few of their ranch hands. He grinned evilly.

“Mr. Puckett, Mr. Smith!” He pulled out a few of his precious bills from his poker stake. “I wonder if I might ask you two the smallest favor..."

The asking took but a moment, and he was running again for the jail, fighting the wind to close the door behind him.

“That didn’t take long,” Vin said, straightening up at the look of dark glee Ezra knew was in his eyes. “What’s your plan?”

“I believe if a few of you were to place yourselves at the back door of the hotel bar in, say, ten minutes, you might find Mr. Wheeler exiting in quite a hurry.” He smiled that mad smile that he knew worried people. “I believe he’ll be much more inclined to be cooperative.”

“What all’re you gonna to do to him?” Buck wanted to know.

“To Mr. Wheeler?” Ezra asked. “Why nothing at all. I’m just going to have a talk with my mother.” He thought suddenly of what was going to happen when he slammed his shot glass down and looked over at the men behind bars. “You might want to leave a couple of people on guard here.”

Lord knew how persuasive Misters Puckett and Smith would be. A table full of men playing a role could, on an outside chance, sweep up the bar in a mob.

Ezra doubted that would happen, as he headed for the hotel bar, peering inside a moment to watch his mother play Wheeler. He was a mouse and sadly, so were most of Four Corner’s residents. They’d hem and haw and stay put.

Sheep to the wolves, he thought, rubbing his hands as the thrill of the con thrummed in his veins. He grinned and headed toward the sacrificial lamb.

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, it was all over—Wheeler was just as much of a coward as Ezra had thought he’d be.

“Buck!” Vin took the lead as they strode into the jail, Maude stepping forward to stand next to Mary, who still looked ready to tear the hotel owner apart. “Best saddle up. We’re heading out to the Travis place.” He all but threw Wheeler at JD. “Put this sack of shit in a cell.”

“I’ll get Tiny to stay with the prisoners,” Nathan said quietly. Ezra hadn’t even noticed the healer, who’d been seeing to the shiner Mary’d given one of the men. He patted his bag of doctoring supplies as he closed the cell door behind him. “Hoping y’all don’t need me to patch nobody up, but I’ll be ready just in case.”

Nathan nodded to Mary and Maude as he slipped out the door, and Ezra sighed, feeling his mother’s gaze go from him to the black man and back again. Now was not the time.

“Maude, thank you for your help,” Josiah rumbled, taking the woman’s hand and kissing it. Ezra rolled his eyes. “You are truly an amazing woman.”

Maude dropped her gaze demurely.

“Why thank you,” she murmured. _Good lord._ “But I was only—”

“Let’s ride.”

Vin’s pronouncement and the sound of the cell door closing again on Wheeler’s freedom washed all levity aside and Ezra nodded seriously to his mother as he and the other lawmen left, hoping they wouldn’t get there too late.

 

 

They very nearly _were_ too late, and Ezra breathed a sigh of relief as the lights of Four Corners came into view some time after one in the morning. Nathan and Vin spirited Chris, Mary, and Billy away to the clinic while the rest of them saw to the prisoners, filling the jail cells to bursting.

Ezra nodded his thanks to Tiny, looking across the street at the still-lit saloon. “I expect my mother found her way across the street for the night.” Tiny looked at him, confused, and Ezra elaborated. “She settled in at the saloon?”

The big man shook his head. “No, Mr. Standish. Miss Maude told me to tell you that she was turning in early and wished you to collect her at eight tomorrow morning.” He looked more puzzled still. “I didn’t quite understand though. She said she was turning in early, but it was after midnight when she left.”

Buck laughed. “You’d best send her up to see Nathan after breakfast, Ezra,” he joked. “Her turning in so ‘early’ and all.”

Ezra rolled his eyes at his friend and sighed. Eight o’clock. Really?

“Well, I suppose I, too, should turn in early, gentlemen.” Someone was going to have to stand guard tonight, and it would not be he. He’d gotten no sleep at all yesterday.

Buck obviously did the same math. “Yup, I’d best be getting to... well, to _a_ bed, anyway.” With a smirk and a wink to Ezra and Josiah, he was gone.

“I believe I will sleep the sleep of the just tonight, my friends,” Josiah announced sagely, gesturing for Tiny to precede him out the door.

“Wait a minute!” JD said crossly, catching on far, far too late. “What about me?”

Ezra tipped his hat and walked out the door.

“You, my friend, need to learn to move faster.”

 

 

> “We’re going to have to split up, Ezra.”
> 
> The feeling of Ratner’s steel grip on his shoulder still dogging him, Ezra let fear overcome reason. Before she’d found him, Ratner had told him exactly what he wanted from her—beyond the money. “Mother, we can’t. If he finds you—”
> 
> “Darling, I’ve been taking care of myself your whole life,” she murmured, continuing to pack her bag. “I want you to head to Slidell—Miss Sadie will keep you until I get there.”
> 
> “Mother, I don’t need—”
> 
> She set down her brush deliberately. “What you need is to do as I say.” She took a deep breath and the fear in her movement just increased his. “Now, if he finds you, tell him I ran out. You’ll have no money on you, no idea of where I went. He’ll let you go.”
> 
> “What if he finds _you_?” Ezra whispered. He’d never seen a con go bad like this—never been so scared for either of them. To run off and just leave her...
> 
> His mother shut her valise and turned to him. “I will meet you in Slidell as soon as I can.”
> 
> The discussion was over. Ezra closed his eyes, fighting tears. “Take care of yourself,” he pleaded.
> 
> She smiled softly. “I always do, son.”

Ezra greeted the sun, less annoyed by the happenstance than he usually was. His dreams had taken him back to Baton Rouge and he was content to let them, but refused to let them go any further. Maude hadn’t made it to Slidell before he was swept into the then-budding war. It was nearly two years before they saw each other as he recuperated in an army hospital in Savannah.

The bayonet had pierced him exactly where Ratner’s blade had. He was back on the battlefield before the year was out.

Three years in Hell deserved to stay in the Pandora’s box of his mind and that was just where he put them, rising in the light of dawn to dress and shave and show this strange new life of his to his mother.

 

Maude met him at her door at seven fifty.

“You’re early,” she said, clearly astonished. “I understand everything went well last night? Justice was served, and all that?”

Ezra was too astonished himself to reply. Her bags were packed and waiting in the sitting room.

“You’re leaving.” He tried to banish the fear that something about the recent O’Malley run-in had caused her abrupt departure, knowing that memories of Baton Rouge colored his thoughts too red. Still, maybe it wasn’t as “done with” as Michael had assumed. “So soon?”

“Yes, well,” she began, heading back into the bedroom and calling her words out to him. “As lovely as your little town is, I find myself yearning for the civility of a slightly larger settlement.”

Ezra spied a telegram hastily folded on top of the papers in her valise and leaned over to read what he could without moving it.

Sorry about SL. STOP By all means, come to Denver. STOP Have something to replenish your fortunes. STOP Will Mackley END

He breathed a small sigh of relief. Even if the situation in St. Louis did rear its ugly head again, Will would look after her. Clearly someone needed to, he thought guiltily.

“I believe I do see potential in this town of yours, Ezra,” she said, entering the room just after he’d straightened away from the bag and its contents. “Though I maintain that you are wasting yourself in the wilds of the territory.”

Ezra wondered whether he should bring up the O’Malleys. He was dying to hear the whole story, but he doubted he’d hear it from her. No. He’d contact Will and make sure his mother was taken care of and leave it at that.

Their breakfast was a pleasant affair, lasting nearly to eleven, full of talk of nothing and plans that would never happen. It was like they’d been before Kansas City. It was like Ezra’s outburst in his room had never happened....

“Now, don’t tarry here too long, as your father would’ve said,” she scolded finally, rising from the meal and heading into the lobby. She just nodded to the desk clerk when he informed her that her bags had been sent to be loaded on the stage. She straightened Ezra’s tie. “You’ll get soft, and we can’t have that.”

He patted her hand as he slipped it through the crook of his elbow. “Of course not, Mother.”

They walked out of the hotel in silence, and Ezra suddenly realized that she was leaving. She was leaving and he had said some things he didn’t want her to dwell on and he had this absurd fear that she wasn’t coming back. It was like he was eight years old again.

“Listen, Mother,” he began tentatively. “About some of the things that were said the other night, I…”

His mother blithely ignored him--to say good bye to Buck, of all people.

And to sniff him.

“What on earth was all that about?” Ezra wondered, momentarily derailed.

“Nothing,” his mother replied. “Now, what were you saying?”

Oh yes. His apology.

“Well, I just wanted to say with all that's gone on I just didn't want you to feel as though I feel—”

A five dollar bill stuck out from the side of the building, attached to JD Dunne. “Thank you, ma'am.”

Maude smiled benevolently and folded the money. “Don't mention it.”

Ezra blinked. What was happening here?

“Yes?” his mother prompted.

Apology. Yes.

“Well, although harsh words were spoken I want you to know that, uh... in my heart…”

Josiah stepped in front of them and Ezra felt as though he were going just slightly insane.

“Ma'am,” Josiah rumbled. “I do believe I'll die if you leave.”

Oh for goodness' sake! Ezra leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Penniless," he reminded her.

That did the trick. "So nice to meet you," she said quietly, moving on. She focused back on Ezra with an absent apology. "I'm sorry, darling."

"Well," he stammered. "I... I just want you to..."

He dropped his chin to his chest and refrained from laughing at the situation. It was absurd.

It was quintessentially Maude.

The irrational fear was gone, erased by the love that was never really overshadowed by his irritation with her.

"Take care of yourself," he asked, more seriously than was his wont.

Being his mother, of course she understood. "I always do, son." He kissed her gently on the cheek and she smiled at the blatant emotion. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," he murmured as she turned and headed for the stagecoach. His thoughts went back through the past couple of months. Terry Greer and Mary Travis, Olivia and Billy. Hell, he supposed parents and children weren't really any different, no matter what they'd been through.

And no matter the times of separation--which were long and numerous, to be sure--Ezra and his mother had been through a lot together.

"Extraordinary woman," Josiah murmured behind him.

Ezra chuckled. "Oh, yes, indeed."

Yes, indeed.

"Now, you be careful with that luggage!" His mother called out, causing Ezra to laugh outright. "That's genuine French leather."

Lord, she never changed.

Thank God.

"Mr. Sanchez," he said, turning to his friend with a smile. " I feel the need for a strong coffee and a game of cards. Care to join me?"

Josiah fell into step with him as they headed toward the saloon, clapping him on the back. "Maybe you could tell me the real story behind that dog of yours," he said, letting Ezra know he knew Maude had been less than honest in her stories of Ezra's youth. He knew, and he couldn’t care less.

It was good to have friends.

It was good to have family.

* * * * *

The End


End file.
